"as I near 70,
I get letters, cards, little gifts
from strange people.
congratulations, they tell me,
congratulations
I know what they mean:
the way I have lived
I should have been dead in half
that time
I have piled myself with a mass of
grand abuse, been
careless toward myself
almost to the point of
madness,
I am still here
leaning towards this machine
in this smoke-filled room,
this large blue trashcan to my
left
full of empty
containers
the doctors have no answers
and the gods are
silent
congratulations, death,
on your patience.
I have helped you all that
I can
now one more poem
and a walk out on the balcony,
such a fine night there
I am dressed in shorts and stockings,
gently scratch my old
belly,
look out there
look off there
where dark meets dark
it's been one hell of a crazy
ballgame"
Charles Bukowski
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